


A Collection

by Demerite



Series: An Unchartered Galaxy [2]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Crack Treated Seriously, Humor, Knives, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demerite/pseuds/Demerite
Summary: Jim keeps collecting people's knives. Lorca probably shouldn't be so amused by it.





	A Collection

**Author's Note:**

> Look, sometimes I get ideas and they refuse to leave me alone. This really isn't remotely serious, and was just an excuse to write Jim coming up with as many sarcastic responses to being asked why he has knives and where he got them from. 
> 
> Follows on from 'Plot My Rightful Place', you probably should read that to understand this!

For the most part, Jim learns to behave himself, and what's expected of him, fairly quickly. He's frighteningly smart, smarter than a lot of people have probably realised, and he uses it to adapt to life on the  _Buran_ with what appears to be relative ease. Of course, Gabriel works out after only a few weeks, there are limits to his obedience. But he does what he's told, mostly, stays out of places he's not supposed to be in, generally, and follows orders, at least while in public. He even refrains from stabbing any more of Gabriel's crew for nearly three months after that first incident the day he was brought on board. There's just one area that he stubbornly refuses to bend to Gabriel's will. 

It's not the sex. Jim is willing and obedient and almost immediately submissive even if he sometimes puts up a token fight for the game of it. No, it's not the sex. It's the  _knives._

They just seem to  _appear_ around Jim; sheathed at his side where a knife is supposed to be, yes, but also vanished up sleeves, tucked into boots, and who knows where else. Gabriel is a smart man, but even  _he_ can't keep track of where Jim is hiding them all. And alright, that's fine, everyone is allowed to have a favourite weapon, but Jim was never issued with a knife when Gabriel brought him onboard. It had been too much to expect that he wouldn't use it against Gabriel the first chance he got. Gabriel had always planned to arm Jim properly once he'd proved he could be trusted, but it hadn't been necessary; by the time Gabriel is considering letting Jim have access to something more dangerous than dinner-table cutlery, Jim has already armed himself. 

*

The call comes through when he's in a turbolift, halfway between Brig and Bridge, heading back up to take command back from his second. It's a matter of moments to divert the pod and take the corridor to his quarters. His tries to keep his pace measured, even with his thoughts and heart racing. He doesn't know what he's walking towards. The message had been brief, ambiguous; someone is dead, Jim is involved, and Gabriel is needed urgently. If Jim's the one who is dead, Gabriel tells himself, he's going to be  _very annoyed,_ and that generally means more than a couple of deaths are impending. 

He hides his reaction, which is mostly surprise, when he steps into his own quarters to see Jim being restrained by two of his security officers, a third lying crumpled in a pool of blood on the carpet. It's a very large pool of blood. 

Jim is struggling, spitting obscenities and threats at the officers holding him, but he calms the moment Gabriel steps through the doors and into his line of sight. 

"Report." Gabriel snaps. 

"Sir!" One of the officers starts, but Gabriel cuts him off with ruthless efficiency before he can continue. 

"Not you." He says, turning his gaze onto Jim, who makes a valiant effort to stand up straight despite behind held in place. 

"Asshole thought he was entitled to me. Sir." Jim says, tacking the honorific onto the end of the sentence like an afterthought, "He didn't like being told to back off, so I made sure he didn't have a choice." 

"By stabbing him." Gabriel doesn't phrase it as a question. He can already see that's exactly what Jim has done. 

Jim shrugs, managing to raise one shoulder despite still being restrained, "I did warn him." He offers up, like that's any kind of explanation. 

Gabriel very much wants to laugh. He'd told Jim that anyone who tries to touch him will die; it had been his promise in exchange, partly, for Jim's loyalty, but he hadn't quite meant it like that. For once, he'd wanted the satisfaction of killing anyone who tried anything with Jim himself. 

He doesn't laugh. Instead, he turns a hard stare on the two officers holding Jim's arms. "Get that mess out of here." He snaps, indicating the body still staining his carpet with a flick of his head. 

The officers hesitate for a moment, perplexed. Morons. Gabriel makes a note to talk to Landry, because the standards here are clearly dropping and that is unacceptable. Jim doesn't hesitate, shaking off the hands that have gone lax on his arms with a sneer, he steps over the slumped form on the carpet before stopping only a pace away from Gabriel. Close enough to touch, so Gabriel does, puts two fingers under Jim's chin and tilts his head to examine his face. He's not injured, but he is  _covered_ in blood. 

"Go get cleaned up." He orders and Jim just nods, heading off towards the bathroom with a truly impressive air of distaste for the whole situation. Gabriel turns a glare on the dumbfounded security officers until they realised that he's serious, watches them scramble to gather up the body of their fallen comrade and drag it heavily from the room, further spreading the blood, the doors hissing shut behind them. They open a moment later to admit several cleaning bots, which start in on the blood. Gabriel waits until the doors have closed behind them, then foes to find Jim. 

The bathroom is already full of steam, Jim refusing to care about things such as water rations, and when Gabriel walks over to the shower, it's to find the younger man smirking at him through the haze. 

"You coming in?" Jim asks, as if Gabriel hadn't already decided he is. 

He strips off armour and uniform quickly, and it's only when he goes to place his dagger aside on the counter when he notices there's already a knife there. It's not one of his. And Jim doesn't have any weapons of his own. 

"Where did you get this?" Gabriel asks. 

Jim, to his credit, doesn't even try to pretend he doesn't know what Gabriel's asking about. "Its previous owner didn't need it."  He says easily, moving aside to make room as Gabriel steps under the water. 

Gabriel raises his eyebrows at him. "We're going to talk about this." He promises, crowding Jim back against the tiles. 

"Okay." Jim says, not in the least concerned. 

* 

It shouldn't be a problem, but it doesn't stop there. The knives just keep turning up. Some of them are the plain utilitarian daggers that are standard-issue to all members of the crew, but some of them are fancier, deadlier. Decorative hilts, intricate blades. Sometimes, the designs speak of the weapons' origins, but when Gabriel sees the knife that Jim has in his hands as he sits, cross-legged by the window, staring out at the stars, he's sure that the other man has no idea what it is, or where it's from. Gabriel knows, because he makes a point of knowing these things, but be also knows that there's no way that Jim came by a Klingon Kut'luch directly from its owner. 

"Who did you steal that from?" He asks, and Jim glances up at him, flipping the intricate blade back and forth between his hands. 

"That diplomat last week." He says, movements not stilling. 

Gabriel knows immediately who he means. The party had been from another part of the Empire, and he'd seen their visit as an annoyance and a security risk rather than actually useful, but orders are orders. "Why?" He sighs, knowing that he doesn't have to specify more than that. Jim knows what he's asking. Why does the feel the continued need to collect sharp things? Why this particular knife? Why this particular diplomat? 

"Didn't like the way he looked at me." Jim answers, "And I liked his knife." The Kut'luch flips around, graceful and deadly. 

*

The knife appears out of nowhere a second before he can ask Jim if he has one. Well, it probably came from up Jim's sleeve, Gabriel is well aware, but it had appeared so fast he hadn't even seen it. He should probably be more worried about that. 

"Where did  _that one_ come from?" He asks, exasperated.

Jim just shrugs and hands it over.

*

The knife Jim's fiddling with is almost wire-thin, hardly a blade at all. He handles it as confidently and competently as he does any other blade, flicking it around his hands as they wait, poised in silence, ready to strike. It's become a habit for him; anytime he's not otherwise occupied, he seems to have a knife of some description in his hands. Gabriel doesn't recognise this one. 

"Whose knife is that?" He asks. 

Jim doesn't even break rhythm, the knife flickering in a barely-visible whirl. "Mine." He answers, not looking at Gabriel. 

Gabriel grits his teeth. "Whose  _was_ it?" He clarifies, because he can see the slight twitch of Jim's jaw that indicates amusement. 

"I can't remember." Jim says easily, and the knife vanishes. 

*

"Do you even have an excuse this time?" Gabriel asks, looking pointedly at the knife Jim's using strip the coatings off a bundle of wires. His hands are sure on the hilt of the short blade and the tangled mess in front of him. 

"Do I  _need_ one?" Jim sasses, and Gabriel normally wouldn't tolerate that level of backtalk, even in private like they technically are now, but there are more important things to worry about, like making sure the shuttle doesn't blow up and kills them both in the next fifteen minutes. He can think of a suitable punishment later. 

*

Some of the assassins are  _really_ good at their jobs. He's not aware of the threat until it has already been neutralised, the thud of a body hitting the floor behind him his first indication that something is amiss. He turns to see Jim, who had definitely been unarmed when they arrived standing over the body with a bloodied knife in his hand, grinning with vicious satisfaction. 

Gabriel just raises an eyebrow at him. "Where did you find that?" He asks coolly, glancing at the long, elegant blade. 

"Very nearly in your  _back_." Jim snaps back, testing the weight and balance of the weapon with one hand, "Be more careful." 

* 

There are some things, however, that he just can't let slide. 

"Is that  _mine_?" He asks, incredulous, looking at the very familiar knife that Jim is cleaning blood off of. There's a lot of blood. Usually, Jim manages to be tidier, but that had been a surprise attack. 

"Do you really want to talk about this  _now_?" Jim snaps back, wiping the blade once more and getting to his feet, glancing up and down the tunnel quickly. There are already more footsteps approaching. "Or can it wait until we're not in immediate danger of getting shot?" 

* 

He gets a report from his chief of security that someone has been stealing knives from her officers, and he manages to get through the entire conversation without laughing. 

"Can you stop stealing knives?" He asks that evening, walking back into his quarters. 

"Maybe when people stop trying to give them to me." Jim says from where he's sprawled, completely naked, on the bed. 

 

* 

"How many do you have?" Gabriel asks, later, when Jim is half-asleep, curled against his side pretending he isn't cuddling. 

Jim manages a shrug and a grin, "Not sure." He admits. "I keep losing them in people." 

"You need to stop doing that." Gabriel warns him, "You're starting to have an impact on crew numbers." 

"I'll stop when they do." Jim mumbles sleepily. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about obscure Star Trek ships on [Tumblr](https://ashtylerlurks.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
